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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25678051">Down to the Edge of the Sea</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnduringParadox/pseuds/EnduringParadox'>EnduringParadox</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pilgrimage (2017)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Cheesy, Could be just a bit pre-canon or canon setting AU, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Merms, M/M, Mergust, Romance, Sappy, The Mute's absolutely besotted with Diarmuid and vice versa, vows what vows</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 05:27:05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,304</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25678051</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/EnduringParadox/pseuds/EnduringParadox</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The Mute enjoys a bit of relaxation time on the beach with Diarmuid as they collect seaweed. Diarmuid tells him some stories of strange creatures, half-human and half-fish, and then they share a few kisses before getting back to work.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Brother Diarmuid/The Mute</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>6</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Down to the Edge of the Sea</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>A quick little idea I had this morning. Discussion of mermaids, but no actual mermaids show up. My apologies for the merm-adjacent fic during this great month of Mergust. </p>
<p>Thanks to Wikipedia for giving me a summary of some Irish mythology that I then reworded for a fic about a monk and a former Crusader getting kissy. From what I can tell, I don't think the capped merrows were part of medieval folklore but rather a more modern story. Playing fast and loose with history here.</p>
<p>Hope you enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>In his years at the monastery the Mute had learned that Diarmuid had a special fascination with the sea. Anytime he and the novice were asked to complete some task at the shore, be it fish for cod, attempt to snatch razor clams from the moist sand, or collect the red seaweed drifting about in the tide, they always took the time to sit and watch the waves as Diarmuid talked.</p>
<p>He didn’t mind, especially nowadays. An afternoon with the novice was always peaceful, always pleasant, and as of late came with the chance of a kiss or two. The Mute could simply relax, dig his toes into the sand, and listen to Diarmuid’s voice: light, lilting, and soothing as he happily chattered about this or that.</p>
<p>And he always asked for the Mute’s input, as if they were having a true discussion and he had something worthwhile to add to Diarmuid’s thoughts.</p>
<p>This afternoon, as the Mute watched Diarmuid draw patterns in the sand with a finger and watched the waves wash them away, the younger man asked, carefully, “When you were on the currach did you ever see anything—strange?” Diarmuid glanced up at him through his lashes, lips slightly parted.</p>
<p>The Mute made an exaggerated display of rolling his eyes up and to the left, to show Diarmuid that he was giving the question honest thought. In truth, there wasn’t much he could distinctly remember about his time drifting in the ocean. The days and nights blended together. His thoughts had been feverish, delirious. But he recalled the sun’s unrelenting harshness in the morning, the pain of his cracked, sun burnt skin, stinging with seawater, the frigid loneliness of the dark black night, and his thirst and hunger.</p>
<p>At the time he hadn’t been looking for anything, merely existing. Surviving on rainwater and the occasional half-dead fish floating in the water, sucking the juices from their eyes and chewing their skin when the flesh was gone.</p>
<p>He shook his head. The only strange thing that he’d seen on his entire journey was the monastery’s shores. A truly unexpected act of mercy from God.</p>
<p>If Diarmuid was disappointed by the answer it didn’t show on his face. Instead, he hummed and replied, “There’s creatures that live in the sea. Deep down, usually, but sometimes they come closer to shore. They look like people, mostly, but their lower halves are like that of fish.” The novice smiled. “Do you know the tale of Lí Ban?”</p>
<p>It was charming how Diarmuid always asked if the Mute knew a story before launching into it. As if he might possibly have a collection of Irish history and legends and tales in his head and that Diarmuid might bore him by repeating ones that the Mute already knew.</p>
<p>But he was a still stranger in this land even after all these years; he knew only bits and pieces of the language and the culture. And Diarmuid was the only one in his entire life to tell him stories. The Mute would never grow tired of hearing his voice even if the younger man told the same tales a thousand times over. He shook his head once more. Diarmuid began:</p>
<p> </p>
<p>“Lí Ban was a woman, the daughter of a king, who lived hundreds of years ago. Her father’s land and palace flooded when a spring burst, and all died but her and her little dog. They lived underneath the lake, alone but for each other, and then after a year they transformed. The dog turned into an <em>otter</em>, and she turned into a merrow, a mermaid. Lí Ban lived for three hundred years, swimming through seas and oceans, until Saint Comgall came across her as she sang. They spoke together, and he convinced her to come to shore to be baptized. They named her Muirgeilt—sea-wanderer—and she died, having been given a mortal body and a Christian soul.”</p>
<p> </p>
<p>Diarmuid’s voice trailed off. Gulls squawked and shrieked overhead. The waves did not crash to shore so much as whisper across the sand to tickle their feet. There was something that Diarmuid wanted to ask; the Mute could tell by the way the novice worried his lip between his teeth. He gave Diarmuid a light, encouraging nudge with his shoulder. The younger man wiggled his toes in the sand and gave a little shrug.</p>
<p>“What do you think happened to her otter? Did he live for three hundred years as well? If so, who took care of him after Lí Ban died? Animals don’t have souls like people do. That’s what Cathal said, once,” Diarmuid mused, “But…I hate to think of him drifting out there all alone. I hope someone found him, and treated him kindly.”</p>
<p>It was a sweet sentiment, and so very characteristic of Diarmuid to have heard the story of a fish-woman’s saved immortal soul and to come out of it worrying over the well being of her pet. He was a gentle, thoughtful person, so full of compassion. With an aching, affectionate pang in his heart, the Mute thought that if the otter had been found by anyone with half as much kindness as Diarmuid, then it would have been a fortunate little creature indeed.</p>
<p>His face must have looked too serious and something somber because Diarmuid tilted his head, brow furrowed, and said, “Here now, I’ll tell you something else about merrows. How's this? A merrow can only survive deep beneath the waves with their <em>cohuleen druith. </em>That is, their cap. They’re red, and feathered, and magic, and without it a merrow must live on land on two legs.” Diarmuid reached toward him and ran his hands through the Mute’s thick, dark hair, his fingertips brushing against his scalp. “Did you lose your cap, my friend?” he asked with a grin.</p>
<p>A lopsided smile broke out onto the Mute’s face. He placed his hands on top of Diarmuid’s and gave them a shake so that they mussed his hair. The novice laughed with delight. Then the Mute took hold of Diarmuid’s wrists and brought his hands to his jaw, over his beard, so that he could press a kiss to each of the younger man’s palms.</p>
<p>The novice’s smile was bright and lovely. He leaned forward, keeping hold of the Mute’s face, and kissed him, his lips soft and moist and perfect against the Mute’s mouth. “Have we rested enough for today?” Diarmuid asked. “We’ve still got to get these baskets filled.”</p>
<p>Ah, yes. The seaweed. It added a fine taste and texture in soups and when dried and powdered served as an ingredient for Ciaran’s health tonics. Collecting the pieces from the sand was an important task, and yet—</p>
<p>The Mute sighed and stood. He helped Diarmuid up. The novice smiled. “If you ever find your cap, make sure to still come visit me,” he teased.</p>
<p>Even if the Mute were one of these merrow-creatures, bound to the sea by his very nature, there would still be nothing within its depths that was better than holding Diarmuid in his arms. He looked out at the calm water, shimmering in the sunlight, shook his head with an overblown expression of disgust, and pulled aside Diarmuid’s robes to gently nip at his bare shoulder.</p>
<p>Diarmuid laughed. “Ah, I see. I’ve trapped you, have I?”</p>
<p><em>Not trapped</em>, the Mute thought, breathing in the scent of the novice’s skin, like candle smoke and fragrant herbs and the salt of seawater, <em>captured my heart</em>.</p>
<p>The love must’ve been obvious in his eyes. Diarmuid said with a sweet little sigh, “Oh, my dear friend,” and embraced him.</p>
<p>They dared to indulge themselves in a few more kisses, longer, more passionate. The seaweed, after all, was already on the sand, and would be there still when they were done.</p>
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